by Justin Sloan
“You’re sure this is it?” Altemus asked Lev, studying the valley with a frown. After a nod from Lev, he added, “It’s not how I imagined it.”
“The temple?” Rohan asked, searching the night. His heart pounded in his chest and his legs ached. He was glad for a break.
Altemus assessed him before allowing a crooked smile. His breath came out in puffs of white air as he leaned in close and said, “The easy part’s over, brother.”
The old man deserved a punch in the gut for that. The trek had been far from easy, with at least two near-death experiences while climbing the rocks.
But when Altemus pointed out their route, Rohan saw what he meant.
Below, a cave glowed with the faint flickers of firelight. He could just make out a footpath leading into the cave, jagged rocks sticking up around it like teeth. Near the entrance, pillars were carved from the rock, some sort of pattern chiseled into them.
For a moment, the snow let up, giving Rohan a view of spires and a faint outline of an ornate temple hidden in the rocks. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed it.
“Down,” Lev hissed.
Rohan looked at him with confusion, but felt the Russian’s firm grip around his collar, pulling him into the snow. Lev’s hand covered Rohan’s mouth, his other motioning toward the temple entrance as a shadow passed by one of the stone pillars—a man in thick robes. Another man joined the first, and something metallic glinted.
“They’re armed?” Altemus asked, sounding more annoyed than scared.
Lev pulled out a pair of binoculars. He observed the men for a beat, then nodded. “AK-47s. Does that change anything?”
“I knew there could be trouble,” Altemus said.
“And you know we need the skull,” Lev said.
“This is all about the skull.”
The talk of a skull that had the power to resurrect the dead had sounded crazy to Rohan at first, but as he watched the robed men patrol the pillared entrance to the cave, he wondered if Lev and Altemus were telling the truth. He had believed in it enough to follow them all the way out here, but he’d known it was more hope than actual belief. With them, that didn’t appear to be the case.
Altemus grunted and turned to Rohan. “And you? Not backing out, are you?”
Rohan took a moment, but finally said, “Never.”
Altemus led the way and they advanced, low to the ground so the guards wouldn’t see them. They descended the slope as fast as they could, snow sliding out beneath them with every step.
As they approached, Rohan studied the massive temple tucked into the mountain. Stone steps led up to the main entrance, flanked by a colonnade of rock pillars with demonic faces. Several parapets on the temple gave it the feel of a fortress. Helixes of smoke rose from chimneys into the cold night air, filling the area with the smell of burning wood and searing meat. Close now, Altemus ducked behind a rock pillar and motioned for them to do the same.
“We’re not going to get the skull out of there without using force,” Lev said, patting the pistol Rohan knew he had concealed under his many layers.
“What?” Rohan asked. “You told me we were going to ‘obtain it.’ You didn’t say anything about robbing or fighting them.”
Altemus turned, the curved bridge of his nose red with cold and inches from Rohan’s. “We only have one chance at this, and only one way it’s happening. You have a problem with it, speak up now.”
Rohan fumed. “You never said we were robbing a temple, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, now you know.”
Lev crouched, straining his neck to make out the guards.
“Okay, and here we are. So, what’s the plan?” Rohan asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Attack,” Lev said. “Now.”
And with that, he dashed out from their hiding spot and sprinted across the snow.
Altemus pointed to a parapet where the form of a guard was just visible.
“That one’s yours. Get past him, or go home crying.” The old man handed Rohan a knife, and then he too disappeared into the darkness.
Rohan wanted to kick himself. Standing alone in the freezing darkness, expected to kill someone.
He’d known this wasn’t going to be ethical to begin with, but how bad did he really want Senna back?
Pretty damn bad.
Rohan gripped the hilt of the knife tightly, feeling it as if it were part of him. He rushed forward in a kneeling run, darting to the nearest stone pillar in the direction of the parapet, then pushed himself flat against its base. With a heave, he pulled himself up onto the ledge, then swung around to see that the guard was near, walking toward him.
Rohan’s heart thumped hard—it was the moment: do or die.
The guard’s footsteps smashed the snow, the sound of boots crunching ice fading in and out with the howling wind. Then they stopped. If the man saw him first, Rohan was screwed. He stayed low, waiting, and then something caught his eye on the other parapet—a flash of light reflecting on steel, a guard’s body falling into the snow. Lev emerged from the shadows and looked in Rohan's direction before disappearing again.
Go time.
A light sweat formed on Rohan’s brow. He gripped the knife tightly, feeling its weight. His breath came out in quick bursts, but he focused his energy, telling himself it was all part of the act.
Screw that, he thought—before all this, he’d been a stage magician, a performer at birthday parties. He wasn’t set up to be a temple robber!
The crunching of snow and ice started again, growing closer. Rohan’s eyes closed and he wanted to cry out to Senna, to tell her he was sorry, but he couldn’t do this. He’d do anything for her, but taking a life? It wasn’t right.
He turned to go, but froze—the guard was standing there, staring right at him with a look of complete bewilderment. On instinct, Rohan held up the knife. He meant it more as self-defense, but the guard apparently didn’t see it that way, because he charged.
This was no longer about right or wrong, it was about survival. As the two of them struggled, Rohan pushed the knife toward the man, chest thudding and everything inside him screaming that his was wrong, and to somehow get out of it.
And in that moment, his better side one out and he went to drop the knife. Only, the guard countered and pushed the knife back on Rohan.
The two were locked in a battle of strength, the blade inching toward Rohan’s throat. They were so close now that Rohan smelled the onions and red meat on the man’s breath.
The guard hissed something in Russian, and then opened his mouth as if to yell for help. Rohan used the chance and kicked out the man’s legs, sending him into a nearby pillar.
Adrenaline surging, Rohan leapt on the man, landing punch after punch on his face. Instinct took over and he swiped the knife off the ground, raising it over his head for a killing strike. But he paused at the fear in the guard’s eyes.
Rohan gripped the knife handle, sweat making it slippery. His palms hurt. One strike and it would be over, but he couldn’t do it.
No, he couldn’t do it. He stepped back, annoyed and ashamed.
The guard stood and pulled a gun from his side, aiming it at Rohan.
Acting on instinct again, Rohan charged the man before he could pull the trigger. He thrust his shoulder into the guard’s abdomen, and the guard dropped the gun as he fell screaming over the edge of the parapet. The scream ended abruptly with a crack.
Rohan couldn’t bring himself to look down. When he finally did, he saw the man’s body lying broken on the rocks.
Rohan’s gut clenched and a sharp pain shot through his head—he’d made his first kill.
Or had he? A movement below gave him hope. Then, slowly, the man moved against the rocks with a low groan.
Rohan sighed with relief and looked at the knife in his hand, shaking his head. Thank God the man was alive.
A whistle cut through the air, drawing his attention to the temple again. Lev and Altemus were waiting. Just past the
m was what appeared to be a large courtyard with a sanctuary in the center. It had several spires and was made of red brick, scattered with square windows lit by candlelight.
Lev motioned to some nearby rocks that were just tall enough for them to reach the roof. “Better than the front door.”
Rohan cringed and imagined himself plummeting to his death. “That’s debatable.”
They made their way up, Lev in the lead, Rohan behind, and Altemus following at the rear. Lev quickly reached the top of the rocks, and climbed onto the shingled roof of the sanctuary. He leaned down, and Rohan took Lev’s hand so the Russian could pull him up as well.
“Not so bad after all, eh?” Lev asked.
Rohan grimaced. He turned to lend Altemus a hand, then paused as a low chant drifted through the night.
They moved to a skylight cut into the roof, which was propped open and gave them a view into the sanctuary.
Below, more men dressed in robes were gathered in a line leading up to a pulpit. The walls flickered with the dark yellow glow of a thousand candles. The air tasted of incense, growing thicker as the chanting grew louder.
In the pulpit, a bearded man in a purple robe knelt before a goat. With a quick motion, he slashed the animal’s throat. Blood poured freely, and the man ran his hands through it. He wiped his face with blood, and then the other men’s faces as he sang an eerie chant. When everyone had been marked, he bent over and disemboweled the goat. The chanting continued, growing louder as the man ripped the animal apart. At last, they all lowered their heads and prayed in Russian.
Lev climbed through the skylight and landed delicately on a rafter. “This way,” he whispered.
Rohan followed, balancing himself on the rafter. He tried not to look down. One wrong step and he’d be dead—no way he’d survive the fall. Even if he did, the men below would disembowel him like they did the goat.
Continuing along the rafters, they crossed out of the sanctuary and into the next room, a sacristy dimly lit with candles. The centuries-old keys, scrolls, chalices, and bones lay neatly arranged on wooden shelves, each marked with a tag with Cyrillic scribbles.
In the middle of the room, a skull sat on a raised metal casing. Some of its teeth were missing, and it had a dull gray sheen. Thick patterns were drawn along the plate lines, dividing the skull into squares that aligned with the plates. In each square was a written character like a hieroglyph. Rohan had never seen any of these characters before—they didn’t look Russian, and that unsettled him.
The group attached ropes to the rafters and swung down to the floor, careful not to make the floorboards creak. Altemus approached the skull. He lifted it up with a ravenous expression, and then placed it in a velvet bag hanging at his side. As soon as he closed the bag, a shrill wail ripped through the sanctuary, so loud that Rohan put his hands over his ears—an alarm.
Lev punched him on the shoulder and screamed, "Come on!"
The trio scrambled for the ropes to climb back up to the ceiling. The cold night air bit at Rohan’s exposed skin as they sprinted across the rafters.
“Stop!” a heavy Russian accent commanded. Shouting followed, and when Rohan looked down, he saw several men on the ground aiming guns up at them.
“Faster!” Rohan said.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the rafter splintered with gunfire. First Altemus and Lev disappeared over the edge of the roof, and then Rohan leapt, the air swooshing around him as he fell. Then, with a soft plunk, the snow caught him.
Altemus had already dug himself out of the snow and unslung his rifle. With two cracks, a pair of guards fell into the snow nearby, dead.
“Keep moving!” Altemus said, tossing the velvet bag to Lev. “Get it to safety.”
Lev nodded and ran. Rohan followed close behind as Altemus took out another guard. Rohan didn’t bother to look back—he assumed Altemus could hold his own. He and Lev made their way back to the parapets and climbed down onto the rocky footpath leading into the snow.
Out of nowhere, an old man jumped in front of Rohan, shouting in Russian. He had darker skin than the Russians Rohan had met so far, a bushy gray beard, and his robe flowed like a dress.
Lev replied in Russian and aimed his pistol at the old man, but the man held up his empty hands and gave a pleading look to Rohan.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” the old man said in broken English. “You must not do this.”
The old man grabbed Rohan’s arm. With his free hand, Rohan reached for his blade. But he didn't have to use it—Lev cracked the man over the head with his pistol. The man collapsed, unconscious.
“You Americans,” Lev said. “You always hesitate when action’s needed.”
Rohan’s stomach churned at the sight of the old man lying at his feet, a trickle of dark blood from the man’s head coloring the snow.
A moment later, Altemus caught up. He snatched the velvet bag from Lev’s hands and opened it in mid-stride, taking a quick glance inside.
“We gotta go before we get shot,” he said. With a grin, he turned to Rohan. “It’s time to reunite you with your fiancée.”
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